The Prisoner of Lizzie Lowell
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: It was a dark and stormy night when a reclusive woman took a young, special agent prisoner. Written for the NFA Community "It Was a Dark and Stormy Night..." Challenge.
1. Chapter 1

Having his car break down wouldn't have been so frustrating if it weren't nighttime and raining. Checking beneath a car hood while gallons of water poured over him was not high on his list of things he enjoyed. Adding to the unfortunate situation were his location – practically the middle of nowhere – and his cell phone's inability to get a signal.

The car had sputtered out only moments before, forcing him to quickly pull over. He'd begrudgingly gotten out into the harsh rain to see if the problem was fixable. From what he could see, though, nothing was broken. Of course, he couldn't see much at the moment. His flashlight only provided a small amount of light against the sheet of rain and the drops were beginning to run into his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision as he assessed the car parts.

It was getting late and the weather was showing no sign of clearing up. At this point, he only had two options: take refuge inside his car and wait for a motorist to pass by or scour the area for a home or other form of shelter. Considering he hadn't seen another car on the road the entire night, it seemed to him that the latter would be the smarter choice. If nothing else, he may get into an area where he could get a cell phone signal and call for help.

He closed the hood of his car and grabbed his keys from the ignition, locking it behind him. The wind began to pick up and the material of his coat flapped around his body. His skin was soaked to the bone, making him that much colder when the wind blew against him. He tightened the coat about his body and gave the car one last look before walking off to seek refuge.

Almost fifteen minutes down the way, he caught sight of smoke streaming up. He began making his way toward the smoke and soon he saw a somewhat dilapidated home that stood alone within the wooded area. The windows were soiled, the door looked as though it were about to fall off its hinges, and the sides of the house had spots of mold. Still, there was a pick-up truck parked nearby, and the smoke coming out of the stone chimney indicated to him that someone was home.

From inside the home, he could hear the soft sounds of a television. When he knocked, a dog inside began howling ferociously and a murmured voice ordered the beast to quiet down.

"What?" The door opened to reveal a woman in her mid-thirties. She was rail thin, though she wore a long man's flannel shirt which hung down to her knees, as well as thick, wool socks. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ratty ponytail and she wore no makeup. Behind the woman was a Rottweiler, straining at his leash as he tried to leap at the new person. The canine's teeth were bared in a snarl, his eyes blazing. He pushed himself up on his hind legs, flailing his front legs in the air.

"Uh…my car broke down over on that road back there and I can't get a cell phone signal," he explained, his eyes fixed on the growling dog. "Do you have a phone I could use?"

The woman peered out into the rain, studying him. She slowly shook her head. "No phone, but I've got an extra bed if you'd be interested in staying the night. If nothing else, it'll get you out of this weather."

He hesitated, trying to figure out whether it would be worse to stick it out in the rain or enter a house in which an angry dog resided. A flash of lightening and a crack of thunder caused him to jump. It felt as though the earth was shaking beneath him.

"Yes, thank you," he said finally. He slipped into the house, sighing as the warmth enveloped his body. He shed it soaked coat and, after looking to the woman for approval, hung it on a hook located near the door.

"How about some tea, hon?"

"That would be wonderful. Thank you." He took a seat as she busied herself in the kitchen area. The house was small – what some might call "cozy" – and it really wasn't clear where the living area ended and the kitchen area began. The mouth of a small hallway was in the left corner. The tables, counters, and bookshelf were covered with papers, envelopes, and other knick-a-knacks. The television was tiny and the picture was grainy and faded. Every now and then, the picture would go out, replaced by snow, and come back moments later. Beside it was a fireplace in which a small fire was burning. Aside from the growling dog in the corner, the most stand-out feature in the house was the large array of crocheted items. They were draped over every flat surface and they hung over every window. It was like something out of _The Beverly Hillbillies_ minus the whole Beverly Hills part.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a mug being placed in front of him. The dark liquid inside was steaming and it smelled heavenly. He accepted the mug graciously and gulped down the tea as quickly as he could without scalding his tongue. "Thank you," he said after one of the gulps.

"Oh, it's no problem at all," she said with a large grin.

The tea was practically gone when he placed the mug down harshly. His mind was beginning to cloud over and he felt himself growing weary. His eyelids were gently drooping and his muscles felt as though they were liquefying.

"Can I show you to your room now, Mr. Gemcity?"

The last thing he slurred before passing out was, "Gemcity's my penname..."

* * *

**AN:** Yes, I'm putting Tim in more peril! I just can't get enough of it! The story is complete and I'll post one chapter per day!


	2. Chapter 2

Tim slowly came to, aware that there was something wrong. His lids were heavy, his mouth was dry, and his head was throbbing lightly. Not to mention the fact that there was something looped around his wrists and ankles.

He finally pried his eyes open and found that he was on a bed in a small room. Thick ropes encircled his wrists and ankles, as well as the bed posts, keeping him spread-eagle on the mattress. A heavy blanket had been placed over him, but he could see that his feet, which were sticking out beneath it, were bare. He could also feel the itchy material against his bare chest and legs, which implied that he was wearing only his boxer shorts.

The room had no windows, so he wasn't sure how much time had passed since he'd first arrived at the house. There was an open door to his left and he saw a dark staircase. He was probably in a basement area. Unlike the main area of the house, this area had a chilly atmosphere, likely due to the lack of a fireplace. He was grateful for the heavy blanket, even if he felt like he was getting a rash.

The nightstand beside the bed had a lamp and a glass of water. Tim found that the rope around his wrist had enough slack that he could grab the glass, and that he could lift his head up enough to take small sips. Also on the nightstand was a rather thick book, the spine of which was facing away from him.

Footsteps pounded from above him and he knew his captor was up and about. He frantically tried to recall what had happened before he'd passed out. He could remember the woman – he couldn't recall if she had mentioned her name – and she had given him that tea. Of course, he hadn't thought twice about drinking it; he had, after all, been cold and soaking wet, and the tea had been so gloriously warm. After that, he only had vague memories of being moved about. But there had been something else…something that she said that he had commented on. It was in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite remember.

The stairway creaked and he heard the soft, padded steps of someone walking down. His muscles stiffened a bit as she came into view, carrying a plate of charred toast which had been lightly buttered. She was still wearing a man's flannel shirt, but now she also had on baggy jeans and boots. He didn't say anything as she grabbed a chair from the other end of the room and placed it beside his bed.

"Your clothes are upstairs, drying by the fire. I figured you'd be hungry," she said, acting as though she was talking to a friend sitting across from her rather than a man she'd drugged and tied to a bed.

He eyed the toast. Even burnt, it was appetizing to his empty stomach. But first, he needed some answers. "Who are you?"

"I'm sorry, did I forget to introduce myself last night? I'm Lizzie. Lizzie Lowell." She held out a hand, seeming to forget that he couldn't shake it.

"Why…why am I here?"

"You said your car broken down, remember? You came looking for a phone."

"I mean, why am I down here, tied to a bed?"

"The toast is going to get cold if you don't eat it now."

"I don't want the toast; I want to know why you're holding me captive!"

Lizzie placed a hand on his cheek. "Now don't go getting yourself all worked up. I'm not trying to hurt you."

He jerked his head away from her touch, smacking it against the back wall in the process. He held down a groan. "Then what are you going to do?"

"You'll like it here, Thom," she told him, pointedly avoiding his question. "You're just not used to it."

"My name is _Tim_."

"Not according to this," Lizzie said, grabbing the book from the nightstand. He immediately recognized it as _Deep Six_. She held it up and opened it so that Tim saw the back cover. There was no denying that the man in the picture was indeed him.

He rested his head back against the pillow. Was he the only one with crazy fans, or did all writers go through this? "I'm guessing you're a fan?"

"You guess right. One of my customers gave it to me as a Christmas gift last year." She replaced it on the nightstand. "I have to admit, I never actually expected you to just turn up at my front door. But when you did, I figured it had to be fate or something."

"I'd go with the 'or something,'" he muttered bitterly.

"Are you going to eat this or are you going to sit there and be a sour puss?"

He glared at her, though he didn't respond with the retort he had in his mind. His stomach was rumbling and he knew that arguing with her wasn't going to do him any good. At this point, she had the upper hand. He had to be gentle about dealing with her if he wanted to get out of this unscathed.

Lizzie held out a slice of toast and he bit into it. The butter had a gooey texture and the toast tasted like grease and charcoal, but he gulped it down, grabbing the glass of water to wash down the taste.

"See? That's not so bad," Lizzie said as he finished up his breakfast meal.

Tim begged to differ, but he was in no mood to debate the quality of the toast. "Look, Lizzie," he told her gently, "I'm a federal agent. People are going to be looking for me. If you let me go now, I promise you that no charges will be pressed. You and I – we'll just go on with our lives."

She was running a damp napkin around his mouth, catching stubborn crumbs that had stuck to his skin. "Don't think I need to worry. Folks don't come around here often. They like to chalk me up as being some crazy recluse."

Gee, I wonder why, Tim thought.

"Now, I know this is a big change for you, but you'll learn to love it, I promise you."

"You can't just keep me tied up down here!"

"Oh, I'm not. I'm gonna untie you and bring Fluffy down here to watch you."

"Fluffy?" he repeated. The only animal he'd seen in the house had been the dog that had growled ravenously at him, and that dog hadn't struck him as being a "fluffy."

"He's friendly once he gets to know you, but he doesn't like when people try to leave. He especially doesn't like it when people attack me."

Tim needed no explanation of what she meant. "Fluffy" would be her way of making sure Tim didn't try to overpower her and get away.

"Now I've got to get some work done, but I'll bring a little radio down for you so you don't get bored." Lizzie collected the plate and the empty glass, giving Tim one final smile before ascending the stairs.

* * *

**AN:** Thanks for the wonderful reviews! Some people have noticed that this is somewhat similar to the novel/movie _Misery_, and I do admit that I was inspired by it when I wrote this!


	3. Chapter 3

Tim and Fluffy had spent the last five hours getting to know one another, but the canine didn't seem any friendlier. In fact, it seemed that his loathing of Tim had only increased during their time spent with one another. Were it not for the fact that Fluffy was on a leash and attached to a hook on the wall, Tim would most likely have been the dog's next meal. Having Fluffy snapping at him made his initial experience with Jethro seem like nothing.

True to her word, Lizzie had untied him and left him with Fluffy while she tended to some work. Unfortunately, the only things he had in the room to pass the time were a radio that only seemed to be getting a country station and the copy of his book. He was in no mood to read his own novel, especially when it only served as a reminder that Thom E. Gemcity had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

Patsy Cline's voice wafted through the air and Tim sat on the bed, shivering. His clothes were still wet according to Lizzie, so he had only the itchy blanket to keep him warm. Beside him on the bed was an empty plate that had held his lunch – a bologna sandwich with mayonnaise and mustard and a Twinkie – and, on the nightstand, was a newly filled glass of water. The room had no bathroom, but Lizzie had placed a bucket in one corner, telling him that she would empty it out for him when she finished up her work. It had taken everything Tim had inside of himself to not vomit. Lizzie, seeing his disgust, had told him that, when she was growing up, she'd had the chore of emptying their outhouse and, therefore, was used to it.

"Arf! Arf! Grr!" Fluffy shouted.

"Do you ever shut up?" Tim asked.

"Arf! Arf arf arf!" Fluffy responded.

"I didn't think so."

"Arf arf arf arf arf arf! Rawr!"

"Hey, don't blame me; blame your master! I don't want to be here! If I could leave, I would!"

He fell back on to the bed, pulling the blanket around his body. "Great, now I'm talking to a dog. Her craziness must be rubbing off on me."

"Arf! Arf arf!"

"Yes, she is crazy. Don't deny it!"

"Are you two getting along?"

Tim sat up as Lizzie appeared at the door. Fluffy, at the sight of his master, sat demurely, his ears pressing back against his head. He looked up at her sweetly and she rewarded him with a head pat.

"Good, boy! I knew you two would love each other."

"He wants to eat me."

"He just wants to make sure you don't leave."

He narrowed his eyes at her, pulling the blanket further around him. "Where are my clothes?"

"Still drying."

"I'm freezing!"

"Well, that's because it's still raining outside. At this rate, we may have a flood on our hands."

Tim perked up at hearing that. "Doesn't that mean we'd have to leave?"

"Nah. We're too high up to really worry about flooding."

Lizzie switched the radio off and took her seat beside the bed. "Well, now that I've gotten my work out of the way, let's get to know each other. Tell me about yourself."

He shot her a withering glare. "Well, my likes are my freedom, being home, and having the ability to flush my bodily wastes down a toilet. My dislikes are being held prisoner, having a vicious dog barking at me for hours on end, and sitting around in my boxer shorts when it's freezing."

Despite the acerbic tone in his voice, Lizzie just let out a raucous laugh. "I see you've got yourself a nice sense of humor."

"It's wearing thin."

She ignored the comment and continued. "So I know that you write and you mentioned something about being an agent."

"A _federal_ agent," he interrupted. "Which makes kidnapping me a federal offense."

"I don't know much about the government. I keep mostly to myself around here. I've lived here my entire life. It was just me and Poppa. Then when he passed away I just stayed here. In fact, this used to be my room."

"And how do you make money?"

"Oh, I sell my crochets to people in town. I drive up every other Wednesday to make my sales and to buy whatever I need. Poppa left behind a whole closet full of clothing, so I don't need much more than food."

"What about when something breaks?" he asked. If he could slyly break one of her appliances, she may call someone out here to fix it and that person might help him.

"Oh, I don't worry much about appliances and technology. If something breaks I just do without it."

Tim was tired of beating around the real issue. "Lizzie, just tell me why you decided to hold me prisoner here."

"I never had much of a chance to meet boys growing up. Poppa didn't approve of me dating. He threatened to shoot any boy who set foot on this property. That made it kind of hard to get dates."

"I would imagine so." He gently rubbed the bridge of his nose. A headache was forming and he wasn't in the mood to deal with all of this. "Look, I'm sorry that your father didn't let you date, honestly I am. But you can't use me to relive your adolescent years, especially when I'm here against my will.

"Why don't you just try going out into town and start dating?" he suggested. "If you get a computer, you could even find online websites that will help match you with someone. I mean, there's got to be someone out there who would want to date you." At least, I hope there is, he added silently in his mind

Lizzie wasn't swayed. "Thom, have you ever gone hunting?" He shook his head. "Have you ever gone fishing?"

"Ah…maybe once…"

"The most prized animals are the ones that are the most difficult to catch. You don't want to catch the ones that anyone can get; you want the ones that only a select few can get."

"…are you comparing dating to hunting?"

"I'm saying that I don't settle for something that any other person can get. I like a challenge; I like the idea of taking something wild and taming it and breaking it in."

Tim gulped at the word "breaking." Something about the way she said it was very unsettling for him. She obviously regarded him more as prey than an actual human being. "You can't treat me like a wild animal that you domesticate."

"Oh, Thom, I was just making a point. I just don't want to give up something really good when I've got it."

"But what you've got doesn't belong to you!"

"Oh, don't be such a whiner. People take in stray dogs and cats every day without anyone accusing them of doing anything wrong. How is taking you in any different than owning a pet?"

"I am not a pet!" he bellowed. He felt the anger rising inside and he shot up, half-ready to throw this crazy woman to the side and make his escape.

Lizzie regarded him without any fear in her eyes. "Fluffy!" she called, snapping her fingers. In a snap, the dog was on its feet, once again straining at its leash to attack Tim. This time, though, it looked as though the leash may break at any moment.

Startled by Fluffy's newfound vigor, Tim fell back on to the bed, pushing himself far back against the headboard. Seeing that his burst of spunk was gone, Lizzie patted Tim atop the head. "Good boy."


	4. Chapter 4

Ziva looked up from her desk as a crack of thunder echoed outside. It had been raining for almost two days straight and it showed no signs of stopping. Despite being almost 9:00am, the sky was still dark and grey. It was the kind of day that you just wanted to stay in bed with a warm blanket wrapped around you.

"No sign of McGee?" Tony asked as he entered, fresh from a coffee run. He was shaking a drenched umbrella, droplets flying every which way.

"He is not answering his cell phone and I have not received any e-mail from him to say he would be late."

"What did Gibbs say?"

"He said to let him know the minute we locate McGee."

"You know," he commented as he slid into his own chair, "McGee was going to that lecture thing on Saturday. With this weather, I wouldn't be surprised if he got caught somewhere."

"He would have called."

"Not if he's in an area without cell reception."

She sat back, considering this. "I still have a bad feeling about it."

"Look, McGee's done some growing up these past few years – thanks, in most part, to me, of course – so I'm sure he's fine."

"He could be lying in a hospital bed."

"They would have called us."

"Maybe he was in an accident and does not remember who he is."

"Stop being so melodramatic, Ziva. He's only been missing for two hours–"

"As far as we know!"

"–and we haven't found anything to indicate that the Probie is in trouble."

"We have now," Gibbs said, walking into the bullpen.

Both Ziva and Tony jumped up from their seats upon hearing their boss and, more importantly, hearing that there was cause for concern over their friend's safety. "What've we got?" Tony asked, a tone of fear creeping into his voice.

"Local LEOs found McGee's car abandoned in a rural area." Gibbs grabbed his own gear, and Ziva and Tony followed suit. "No sign of foul play, though."

"I told you I had a bad feeling," Ziva hissed into Tony's ear as they followed behind Gibbs.

* * *

Tim groggily opened his eyes, groaning as he tried to move his sore muscles. Lizzie lay beside him, her head resting on his chest. Her hair fell against his skin, tickling it. His fingers longed to scratch the skin – or simply push her off of him – but his hands couldn't reach any further than a few inches.

The previous night had been uncomfortable for Tim, even in comparison to the time he'd already spent with his somewhat unbalanced captor. Lizzie had brought down dinner for the both of them, consisting of overcooked pork, undercooked mashed potatoes, and mushy carrots. She even had gone so far as to dress up for the occasion, trading in her usual flannel garb for a shapeless, button-up dress that hung on her body like a coat hanging on a coat rack.

After their dinner, she had once again bound him to the bed posts as Fluffy stood by to make sure Tim didn't try anything. She had then settled in beside him and proceeded to read to him the first three chapters of _Deep Six_. When the bedtime story was done for the night, she turned off the lamp and snuggled down against his chest, promptly falling into a deep sleep. Tim had remained awake for almost an hour after Lizzie, due to both the discomfort of being tied up and her harsh snoring.

Now, he lay there pondering many things. Was it morning? Did the team know that he was missing yet? Would he stay here forever? Would Fluffy eventually break free from his leash and devour him?

A resounding snore from Lizzie pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced down and saw her beginning to wake.

"Morning," she mumbled as she sat up, stretching her muscles. Tim watched enviously, wishing _he_ could stretch. "Sleep well?"

"No," he told her curtly. "Maybe if I hadn't been tied up."

"Well, it would have been cruel of me to ask Fluffy to stay awake all night and watch you."

Fluffy awoke, as though he knew he was being talked about. After a brief stretch of his own – which Tim was certain he was only doing to taunt him – the dog once again took his position at the foot of the stairs, snarling at Tim.

Lizzie shot her dog a sweet smile as she went about untying Tim. "I'll go get some breakfast started. Any requests?"

"My clothes."

Lizzie didn't respond. It seemed as though she was deliberately ignoring it. "I think I'll make you my special grits and biscuits."

She passed Fluffy, giving him a pat on the head. Halfway up the stairs, she stopped and looked over her shoulder to her prisoner. "Tonight I've got a special surprise for you."

"I can hardly wait," he muttered to himself, wrapping his blanket around his bare body.

* * *

The team pulled up behind a police car and piled out. Just in front of the police car was a silver Porsche that undoubtedly belonged to Tim. One of the officers caught sight of them and beckoned them over.

"I'm Lt. Rolands," he greeted, extending his hand. "You must be Agent Gibbs."

"What have you got?"

"Found this car at around 0600. I sent the license plate numbers in and they found out it belonged to one of your men." Rolands led them over to the car. "We haven't found anything to suggest that he was forced away. He may have had some car trouble, stopped, and caught a ride with someone."

"Any footprints?"

"None that we could see, but it's also been raining steadily for the past two days, so it's possible that the footprints were washed away."

Gibbs looked up at the rain that was still drizzling down upon them. This weather would make it nearly impossible to guess what might have happened. Anything that might have been there would likely have been washed away. "DiNozzo, I want you and Rolands to scope out the area. If you find anything, you let me know. David, start taking pictures."

As the two of them went about following his orders, Gibbs took it upon himself to examine the car. It was locked. If Tim had been taken by force, it's unlikely that he or his captors would have gone to the trouble of locking the car. He had most likely had car trouble, which is why he stopped here and left his car. The question was did he catch a ride with someone or did he go off searching for help?

"Why didn't he call?" Ziva asked.

"This area isn't the best for cell reception, ma'am," one of the officers said.

She shot the man a look for referring to her as "ma'am," but didn't say anything. Gibbs was rounding the car and she could see his mind was hard at work. "What are you thinking?"

He didn't even glance up at her. "Something's hinky."


	5. Chapter 5

Lizzie hummed along with the radio as she mixed the flour, butter, milk, and egg concoction that filled the bowl. Her mother's ancient cookbook sat open on the counter and every so often she would reference it. Smudges marred the page from where her grimy fingers had pressed, running down the lists of ingredients for each delicious dish.

Poppa had always raved about her mother's cooking, so Momma's cookbook was the most obvious reference point for her.

She'd always heard that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. So far, she knew her cooking had been lackluster. It was no wonder Thom was so reluctant to open himself up to her. Tonight, though, she would give him a meal he would never forget. The evening would start with her own interpretation of crawfish bisque – crawfish was out of the question, but there was no reason she couldn't substitute bits of bacon in its place. That would be followed by a leg of lamb – that leg had been sitting in the freezer for as long as she could remember and now was as good as anytime to cook it – served on a bed of lettuce with something called couscous. She would end the evening with chocolate cake and chocolate mousse. She even had an ancient bottle of wine standing by for the night, even though she didn't drink much.

The meal would be perfection, she knew. She would have Thom eating out of her hands…literally! Though, even if the dinner didn't do the trick, Lizzie had more up her sleeves…

"Oh, drat!" she hissed as the mixture spilled out on to her clothing. She was still wearing the dress she had donned the night before and the batter oozed along down the front. "Can't wear this now," she mumbled as she began un-buttoning it. She'd hoped to re-use the outfit, seeing as she had a limited number of dresses. With a sad sigh, though, she dropped the garment into the dirty clothes hamper. She was about to retrieve one of Poppa's old flannel shirts from her room when she caught sight of Tim's clothing lying by the fire. The clothing had dried the night before, though she hadn't let _him_ know that. Now, though, it was just lying there, not being used.

Men like women wearing their clothing, she thought to herself as she pulled shirt on and began buttoning it up. It hung loosely on her and she had to roll the sleeves up to free her hands. Lizzie took a moment to reveal in the feeling of his clothing. His smell still clung to the shirt. Such a manly scent…

"Cake isn't going to bake itself," she chirped brightly as she returned to the kitchen area. Thom would love this…she'd make sure of it.

* * *

"So, how much area is there around here?" Tony asked as he walked behind Lt. Rolands. The two had spent almost half an hour searching through the woods for any sign of Tim. In that time, the rain hadn't eased up at all; in fact, it only seemed to have gotten heavier.

"Quite a lot, Agent DiNozzo."

"Any inhabitants?"

"Very few. Not many people appreciate the isolation of living in this area."

"If you had to venture a guess, though, how many would you say there are?"

Rolands paused to think about Tony's question. "The Hendersons live a bit further west. They're an elderly couple who moved here after he retired. Joe Mattheson does woodwork and he lives a little further down in this direction, but he's been gone for about a month so far as I know. And, of course, there's Lizzie Lowell. She lives pretty near here. A bit of a recluse, especially since her father died."

"That's it?"

"There are a few more homes you'll find spread out about the woods. I can't know them all, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony sighed. He stopped and looked at their surroundings. All he saw were trees. No sign of human life. "So where do we start?"

"We can check out Mattheson's place. If your agent was stranded here, he may have taken refuge in the empty house."

The rain and mud sloshed around them as they trod through the wooded area to where the house sat. Tony shivered, wishing he'd thought to bring his umbrella. Though, an umbrella would have only been a hindrance if he needed to pull out his gun for any reason.

"I hope McGee appreciates this," he grumbled, mostly as a means to ease his mind over his friend's disappearance. "These shoes cost me a fortune. And this coat is Armani!"

"You guys certainly get paid more than we do," Rolands mused. Despite Tony's seemingly disparaging demeanor, Rolands could see that he was worried. If venting about over-priced clothing helped ebb his nerves, then Rolands would let him.

* * *

"Lunch time!" Lizzie announced as she descended the stairs.

Tim looked up and his eyes bulged. "That's _my_ shirt!"

"Do you like it?"

"I like it on _me_!"

Lizzie set down the plate – another bologna sandwich, this time paired with a Ding-Dong – and rolled her eyes. "Well, I certainly couldn't walk around naked, now could I?"

Tim was about to answer her, but then he shuddered. He didn't want her in his shirt, but it was better than her alternative.

"I'll get some of Poppa's clothes for you, if you insist."

Tim pouted and pulled the blanket around his body tightly. "I insist."

He looked at the food that had been plopped before him. Her earlier serving of grits and biscuits had been almost inedible and he was reluctant to eat any more of her cooking. Then again, the crappy breakfast had left him hungry. Besides, it was nearly impossible to mess up a sandwich and the Ding-Dong had come pre-made inside a cellophane wrapper. After only a bit of hesitation, Tim bit into the sandwich, almost moaning as he tasted it.

Lizzie grinned, enjoying his obvious enjoyment. "See? I told you that you would learn to love it here."

"I'm only enjoying this because I'm hungry," he muttered in protest. "I still want you to let me go." He finished up his sandwich and began nibbling on the cream filled treat.

"I have a feeling your feelings are going to change."

"Fat chance…"

Tim finished up his meal and leaned back against the bed. Lizzie watched in satisfaction as his eyes slowly began to droop, finally falling closed. His breathing became calm and steady.

Lizzie took the plate and kissed his forehead. "You sleep," she whispered as she walked out. "I'll need you rested up for tonight."

* * *

"There it is," Rolands announced, pointing toward a run-down house. Actually, it looked more like a shed than an actual house.

Tony peered through a grimy window, but it was impossible to tell if anyone was inside. The door was locked when he tried to open it, but considering how rusted the hinges were, it didn't take him long to break it down. "Doesn't look like anyone is here."

The home was completely covered in a film of undisturbed dust. A window had been broken in the back of the house and the glass still remained where it had fallen. Leaves, twigs, and bits of dirt had blown in through the open window and were strewn across the floor and various pieces of furniture.

"If your man was here, he managed to stay here without leaving a trace."

"I don't think even Gibbs is _that_ untraceable, let alone McGee."

The two exited back into the rain, having checked one house off their list.

"Who else did you say lived around here?" Tony asked. The rain was pounding down on them harder and Tony had pulled his coat up over his head in a feeble attempt at covering himself.

"Lizzie Lowell is back over this way. She's kind of nutty, but she doesn't cause trouble. Her dog is a bit vicious, though."

"Does she welcome visitors?"

"Not as far as I know."

Above them, a bolt of lightening flashed, lighting up the sky. It was followed by a bellowing clap of thunder. Tony hoped they would find Tim soon…for everyone's sake.


	6. Chapter 6

There it lay, still inside the musty box. She had stumbled across it after Poppa had died. She had been cleaning out his room – she hadn't been allowed in there while he was alive, but she figured he wouldn't mind now that he was dead – and had found it packed away in the closet, protected only by tissue paper and the box in which it sat. It must have belonged to Momma, though she wasn't sure why Poppa had kept it after Momma's death.

Lizzie picked it up out of the box, examining it. The bodice was a purple silk with white trimmings. There were spaghetti straps and the bodice was boned. The back had a white ribbon to lace it up as tightly as needed. It also had a purple lace skirt, beneath which hung straps to connect to one's panty hose.

There was a knock at the front door and Lizzie quickly dropped the lingerie back into the box. She shuffled out, stopping to check in on Thom (still asleep) before making her way to the door. She very rarely got any visitors, so she was curious to see who had interrupted her.

"Lt. Rolands?" she asked when she opened the door. The police Lieutenant had come by now and then, usually with complaints of Fluffy's behavior, but his visits were rare. When she did see him, though, she knew it was not going to be a pleasant visit.

"Hey, Lizzie. How is Fluffy doing?" he asked wryly.

"Fluffy is doing just fine. She hasn't bitten anyone, so I don't know why you're here."

"I'm here on account of a missing person. This," he said, gesturing to Tony, "is Agent DiNozzo from NCIS. One of their agent's car was found abandoned on that road back there and the agent seems to be missing."

"His name is Timothy McGee," Tony added.

"Timothy McGee?" she repeated. "No one here by that name."

Rolands held up a picture. "Seen this man?"

She barely regarded the picture before shaking her head. "If Timothy McGee is somewhere in these woods, he isn't here."

Tony and Rolands exchanged looks. Each man could see that the woman was speaking in a bizarre, almost side-stepping, manner, but they couldn't be sure if it was because she was hiding or simply because she _was_ a bizarre woman.

"Well, Lizzie, if you see him or find anything, please give us a call down at the station," Rolands said.

"Mm-hm," she mumbled, closing the door quickly.

Satisfied that the situation had been side-stepped, Lizzie returned to Poppa's room where she once again picked up the garment, holding it against her body as she glimpsed in the mirror. The lingerie wasn't at all her style. She had never been a fan of the more feminine things and had never had use for sexy clothing. The bodice, even when tightened as tight as it could go, barely clung to her thin frame, the bust area hanging far away from her chest. It had obviously been made for a curvier woman, and did little to enhance Lizzie's body, but it was the only thing she had. Once Thom saw her in that, he would be as enamored as Poppa had been with Momma.

A bell dinged from within the kitchen, signaling that the cake was ready to come out. She returned the lingerie to the box once again, giving it a glancing look as she left. She had plans for that night…_big_ plans.

Outside, Tony and Rolands were making their way back through the wooded area. Tony kept glancing back at Lizzie's house, not sure what to make of her. "I thought you said she lived alone."

"Lizzie?" Rolands asked. "She does."

"She was wearing a man's shirt."

"Always does. Her father died a little ways back and she seems to have raided his closet."

Tony nodded, though his doubts weren't swayed. Checking his watch, he saw that it was nearing 4:00pm. "We should check-in with Gibbs," he told Rolands. "See what they've managed to find."

* * *

Tim once again awoke with heavy eyelids and a dry mouth. When he realized that the ropes had once again returned to his wrists and ankles, he groaned. Drugged again. He should probably stop eating anything Lizzie gave to him, though, that would likely lead to starvation.

On the plus side, Fluffy seemed to have thought it safe enough to take nap, so Tim didn't have to put up with the creatures incessant barking. His head was already pounding enough; he didn't need an added pain. He also noticed, with some delight, that he was no longer stripped down to his boxers. A thick flannel shirt covered his torso and sweatpants covered his legs. They weren't _his_ clothes, but he was glad to take what he could.

He allowed himself to relax back on to the mattress, seeing as he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. It was Monday and, considering Lizzie had served him lunch hours before, it was probably almost dinner time. The agency had to have discovered his disappearance by now. Did they have any leads? Hopefully, his car had been found, because that would give the team a starting place.

What movie reference would Tony make? _Misery_ was, of course, the most obvious choice. He could imagine Tony doing a poor James Caan impression and an even poorer Kathy Bates impression. Then Gibbs would smack his head, telling him to cut the crap. That would lead Ziva to ask how crap can be cut and why a person would want to do it anyway. Abby would run in, guzzling her regular drink of choice, and would start to tell them about something she'd found, only to go off on a bit of a tangent. Though, her tangents couldn't possibly compare to Ducky's.

Tim winced. He liked Ducky, but he hoped the M.E. would not have to be involved with this.

The door at the top of the stairs creaked open. Both Tim and Fluffy turned their heads at the sound.

"I hope you're hungry," Lizzie chirped as she slowly descended the stairs. "I have got a wonderful meal cooked for us tonight."

She was carrying a small collapsible table which she placed beside his bed. In the center of the table was a tin vase with a wilting flower sitting inside. "Did you sleep well?"

"Why did you drug me again?"

She didn't respond. "I've got to get a few more things for our dinner, so you just sit tight."

"Do I have a choice?"

When she returned again, she carried a large tray upon which were a large bowl with a thick, broth that looked like phlegm and little, brown bits of meat floating in it and a plate on which there was white mush and some kind of meat sitting on top of lettuce. Tim noticed that the lettuce was more brown than it was green.

With one more trip upstairs, Lizzie finished the set-up with a bottle of pinot noir and two glasses. She popped it open and sloppily poured them each a glass. When she offered a glass to Tim, he simply looked at it.

"Can't you just untie me and let me drink it?"

"Not tonight, sweetie."

Tim looked suspiciously at the glass, recalling what had happened the last time she offered him a drink.

"You'll have to drink sometime," she told him.

"Not in the mood for wine," he said curtly.

She dropped the glass back down on to the table. "Fine," she told him, picking up the bowl and a spoon. "Then let's eat." She held the spoon up to his lips. Once again, he refused. Lizzie rolled her eyes, taking a taste of the soup herself. "See? Nothing in here but food."

"That's debatable," he replied, glancing down into the bowl. Still, he allowed her to spoon the so-called soup into his mouth.

"I promise," she said, with a Cheshire Cat smile. "I won't be drugging you tonight."

* * *

"We haven't found anything, boss," Tony admitted as he and Rolands exited on to the road.

"Neither have we, DiNozzo."

"We sent fingerprints and pictures back to headquarters," Ziva said. "It seems, though, that McGee simply vanished into thick air."

"It's 'thin air,' Ziva," Tony corrected. "And no one just vanished into thin air…expect maybe Houdini…"

"We talked to William Hearty who put together the Writers of America lecture that McGee attended. He says McGee left after the lecture and, from what he could tell, nothing was wrong."

Tony snorted. "That stupid lecture. McGeek wouldn't stop talking about it."

Ziva grinned. "He even bought a new Armani suit for the event."

Tony was about to reply, but something struck him about what Ziva had said. "You're right…he sent me a link to it."

"Yes?" Ziva asked, catching Tony's look. "And?"

"And I just saw it."

"Where?" she asked turning her head about.

"That woman in the woods. An Armani jacket was hanging on the coat rack…and she was wearing that shirt!"


	7. Chapter 7

"One more bite," Lizzie cooed, pressing the cake-filled fork to Tim's mouth. He, in turn, sighed and opened up, lest she should do her "spoon airplane" again.

The dinner was thankfully nearing its end. The food had barely tasted edible, but it had been shoveled down his throat almost forcefully. He had eventually caved and had some wine for no reason other than to wash out the taste of Lizzie's cooking. In fact, the wine had been the best part of the meal. It not only cleansed his palate somewhat, but he was starting to become tipsy enough that he might forget that he was being held prisoner by a psychotic women who was hell-bent on serving him the worst food he'd ever tasted.

Lizzie wiped a napkin against the corner of his mouth, removing the stray bit of chocolate icing that had stuck there. "I just knew you'd love the dessert."

"'Love' is a bit of an exaggeration. It was just the least disgusting thing you force fed me tonight."

She began stacking the empty plates and pushing the table and chair back against the far wall. "It was all in Momma's old cookbook and Poppa just loved her cooking."

"He must have had a strong stomach."

Lizzie returned to the bed side, still holding a glass of wine. She offered it to Tim and he reluctantly accepted it. She poured all of the liquid that remained in the glass into his mouth, causing him to cough and sputter for a moment. "Too strong?"

"Too…fast…" he said between coughs.

"Well, we're almost to the climax of our evening," she told him with a smile. "But first I need to bring Fluffy back upstairs."

"Why?" Tim asked. He didn't care whether or not the dog was down there – he actually preferred not to have the vicious canine anywhere near him – but he had a bad feeling about the reason behind her actions.

"Because, I don't want any distractions," she said vaguely.

She unhooked Fluffy's leash and led him up the stairs. He growled and bristled, but allowed her to pull him away. When she returned, Tim almost cowered beneath her stare. He wished he could just press himself down through the mattress.

"Now then, I think we have some business to attend to." Lizzie slowly unbuttoned the dress, revealing an old and ill-fitting bustier. Tim's eyes bulged, his impending fate suddenly dawning on him. This woman – this crazy and apparently sex-starved woman – was hoping to use him the way a queen bee uses her drone.

"You like it?" she asked, mistaking his widened eyes as a good thing.

"What…what the hell are you doing?" he screamed.

She placed a hand over his mouth. "I'm just getting you in the mood." She leaned down to him, the bustier falling away from her chest and giving Tim a glimpse of more than he wanted to see.

"I don't want to be in the mood," he mumbled against her hand. "I want to go home…"

* * *

"Rolands! Is this Lowell woman armed?" Gibbs barked as the team made their way through the wooded area.

"Her father definitely had a few guns, but I can't say I've seen her use any of them. Though, that dogs hers is practically a weapon."

"Boss, do you think…I mean, should we be checking the woods…?" Tony asked, not wanting to say what was on everyone's mind.

"Tony, if you and Rolands didn't stumble upon any body while you were traipsing about the woods, I don't think we have any cause for worry." Unless, of course, the corpse is still in the house, but Gibbs didn't think it important to bring up that possibility.

"What could she possibly want with McGee?" Ziva asked. "We have not received a ransom note. From what you've told us, this Lizzie does not seem to have any connections to terrorist or any reason to kidnap a federal agent."

Rolands sighed. "Lizzie's father was a bit…over-protective of her while growing up. She wasn't allowed to date and I don't know that she had a chance for a normal social life."

"So you think she nabbed McGee to live out her unfulfilled teenage years?" Tony commented.

"I think she's starved for a man and was willing to pounce upon it when the opportunity presented itself."

"So…she's planning to…uh…_mate_ with McGee?" Tony shivered. "Poor Probie."

As they trudged through the woods, the rain pounded down harder upon them. The sky had grown even darker, lit only by the occasional flash of lightening. The wind blew through the trees, rustling the leaves and whipping them about the team. As Tim had on that fateful night, they saw a stream of smoke rising above the trees.

"At least we know she's home!" Tony called out above the screeching wind.

"Ziva! You'll come in with me," Gibbs ordered. "Tony, Rolands! I want you two to circle the house in case this nut job tries to escape out a window."

"Got it, boss!" both Ziva and Tony replied. They had their guns drawn, ready to shoot.

Gibbs tried the door and found that it was locked. Luckily, the door was barely holding up anyway. A quick kick opened it, revealing an almost empty living area with a fire roaring in the fireplace. The only inhabitant of the living area was a vicious dog who was barking and straining at his leash to attack these new intruders.

Ziva and Gibbs entered, not sure what they were going to find.

* * *

Tim had his eyes closed, hoping and praying that when he opened them Lizzie would be gone and he'd be back in his own bed and this entire ordeal will have been a bad dream.

"I'm not going away just because you close your eyes," Lizzie's voice cut through the air, effectively ruining Tim's wish. "Now just open your eyes and let's get to this!"

"Don't you think we're moving a bit too quickly?" he said as he slowly opened his eyes. Lizzie was standing before him, wearing just the bustier. "I don't like to rush into…uh…this specific area of a relationship."

"Sorry, doll, but we don't have much time to sit and wait for you to be ready." She knelt above him, straddling his body with one knee on each side. Her fingers were unbuttoning the shirt which had only recently been placed over his bare torso.

Tim yanked at his bindings, but they were tightly tied. He tried to throw her off of his body by rocking his hips back and forth, but she hung on like an expert bull rider on a mechanical bull. "Look…can't we just talk about this?"

"You're not a virgin, are you?" she asked, giving him a suspicious look.

"No!" he bellowed, though he wasn't certain why he cared so much about whether or not she thought he was a virgin. "I just don't want to do this!"

She pouted, resting her hands on his lower torso. "What? Don't you think I'm attractive?" she asked, looking down at the bustier she wore.

Tim was silent for a moment, not sure how to reply. If he lied and said he _did_ think she was attractive, she would take it as permission for her to continue; if he told her the truth and said he _didn't_ find her attractive, she may get angry enough to do something horrible…even more horrible than forcing him to have sex with her.

Before he could choose which response would cause him the least amount of reciprocal pain, he was saved by a loud crash from upstairs. Both he and Lizzie glanced up at the ceiling basement inquisitively. The sound of Fluffy's barking and growling could be heard in the distance.

Lizzie cursed. "Damn wind must have blown the door open." She slid off of his body, causing Tim to sigh in relief. "Suppose I'd better get it boarded up."

"Take your time," he mumbled beneath his breath.

She didn't bother to grab the dress she had tossed to the side, but she did look him level in the eye and say in a firm tone, "Now don't you move until I get back."

Upstairs, Ziva and Gibbs heard someone ascending stairs. Each took to one side of the door, guns ready. When the door opened, a woman emerged, dressed only in lingerie. Her hair was pulled back into a ratty ponytail and she hadn't a lick of make-up on.

"Freeze! Federal agents!" Gibbs shouted.

"Put your hands in the air!" Ziva ordered.

Lizzie, completely startled, screamed in terror, her hands flying up over her head. Fluffy, hearing the distress in his master's voice, gave one more lunge, breaking the leash, and ran toward the trio. He jumped toward Ziva who managed to grab him by the scruff of the neck, though she did suffer a rather deep bite in the process.

"Don't hurt Fluffy!" Lizzie screeched as Gibbs clicked handcuffs around her wrists.

Ziva was barely listening, as she was more interested in getting rid of the dog. She pulled the animal to an open door, shoved it in, and slammed the door behind her. The door pounded into her back as the dog shoved against it, trying to get out.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked.

"I will be fine," she assured him in a breathless tone. She looked down at her wounds. She had a multitude of scratches and a rather nasty bite on her arm. She would most certainly need medical attention, but at the moment she was more worried about finding Tim.

Tony and Rolands burst in through the door, guns drawn. Tony caught sight of the scantily dressed woman in handcuffs. "Boss?"

"Yeah, DiNozzo! Take her," Gibbs replied, pushing Lizzie into Tony's grasp. He leaned down into the doorway out of which Lizzie had just come. "McGee?"

"Boss!" Tim called up wearily. "Boss, I'm down here!"

Gibbs sprinted down the stairs, stopping short when he saw the young agent tied to the bed with an unbuttoned shirt. "McGee…what the hell is going on?"

Tim sighed in relief, not even able to muster up enough energy to be embarrassed by the fact that his boss was seeing him in this condition. "It's a long story. I'll be happy to tell you the entire thing once you untie me and get me out of this crazy house!"


	8. Chapter 8

Lizzie was covered with a blanket and brought back to the waiting squad car by Lt. Rolands. Before leaving, she called out to Tim (or "Thom"), telling him she'd wait for him and that, as soon as she got out of prison, they could pick up where they had left off. Tim responded in a very out-of-character him way, telling her exactly which part of her body she could "shove it up." While Gibbs untied Tim, Tony called for medic for Ziva and Tim, as well as animal control for Fluffy, who was still ramming against the door and howling. Tim and Ziva, were instructed to sit for the time being, until they were looked over and pronounced well enough to work. In the meantime, Gibbs and Tony had taken it upon themselves to process the scene.

"Uh, should we mark these as evidence?" Tony asked, holding up Tim's clothing.

"I don't care," Tim told him. Visions of Lizzie parading about in his shirt ran through his mind, causing him to shiver. "I'm never wearing that again."

"Are you hurt, McGee?" Ziva asked. She had a towel wrapped around the bite on her arm and the scratches had turned a deep burgundy red.

Tim assessed her injuries in comparison to his own. "Not nearly as much as you were. I just have some minor bruising and some wounds left where the ropes rubbed against my skin," he said, looking down over the reddened area on his wrists and ankles.

"Rolands just left with Ms. Lowell," Gibbs announced, flipping his phone closed. "Said he'll hold her at the station until we can sort all of this out."

"Well, with this weather, it's going to take medic a while to get here and it'll take animal control even longer, so we'll be waiting here a while," Tony said as he snapped pictures of the living area. "As long as we're waiting, McGee, why don't you tell us why this Lizzie girl went all _Misery_ on you?"

"Do you want the abridged version, Tony, or do you want the entire story?"

"Entire thing, of course! Please don't leave out any of the sordid details!"

Tim grinned for the first time in days, sitting back comfortably in his chair as he prepared to tell his story. "Well, it was a dark and stormy night…"

* * *

**AN:** And so we come to the end! Thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers! I had fun writing this and I hope you had fun reading it!


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